It’s cold when you’re waiting for a time system to unlock itself according
to a program it doesn’t know exists. The main system has been deactivated,
every scquare inch of my bioenhanced body is loaded with weapons you won’t
even have heard of, and the power to take down the city if they all set off
at the same time, yet here I am waiting for a computerised system to tick
away it’s artificial seconds so I can kill more operatives and eventually
pick up myself in a more than gracious manner. I hate not killing something
for hours on an op. with some luck the system goes down and the thing’ll
reset, resulting in a four second window of opening followed by seven hours
of not opening. There’s always hope…it’s not that I didn’t have
a nice time at the CD, or that I wasn’t happy being who I was. I never planned
this from the very start. I didn’t have to. It’s just that I’m
a collection of engineered processes with a bioaugmented supportsystem, and
an unstable mindset. Don’t cry, it’s not your fault. I’m not
complaining, but my life so far has quite frankly been nothing to look forward
to on a minute to minute basis. Sure, we had a lovely time together those
few times, but considering someone had to go and play around with every fiber
in my body means I have a bit more of a self awareness than you do. For
instance, did you know I can count my bloodcells rushing through my heart?
My processing ability is so stupidly fast that you can start a sentence
and I can predict the rest of it twentythree times accurately before you reach
your fifth word. That brings me to why I don’t like not killing people on
an op. this is the fun part. There are too many uncertainties
when I fire my gun. People react the way I predict, and bullet fly the way
I want, but once they impact, I loose control. And I secretly love
loosing control. I can’t predict where everything will end up, and
that small little imp inside me that loves a challenge actually gets put to
work. This is why I love screwing with your mind too.
Did you know that it takes me less than a second to run through an entire battleplan? I bet you did. I mean, you designed me, so you should have a small idea of what I’m capable of. I mean, before I started modifying myself. All the things you made me be abel to do, all the things that others thought was a good idea to build into me.. like a machine, like a little toy you could prime and prime till it works so well it did what you wanted it to do without having to tell it to do it. Would this be real artificial intelligence? But you couldn’t stop. You made a monster out of me. You could have foreseen that I’d figure out what I was. You could have made sure I wouldn’t have escaped your monitors. You could have explained me what I was in hardware, forcing a reality so bleak on me that my previous years would seem like taking a nice warm bath with a waterproof radio playing 1960 big band with a spanish female vocal. But you aren’t as smart as you made me. You couldn’t now. You still can’t. If you’d repeat this program, and for your sake I hope you don’t, because I have a reasonable clue what it’s meant for, and I have ten fingers to pull triggers with, the new model would go out of control too. And they might not end up loving you like I did.
Remember roudeaux… I’ll say it simpler. There are two ways to make someone like me. One is to start with a blank sheet and work your way up. The other is to start with principally flawed systems. Like, say, a human and building on it. If anyone would have to point out the biggest mistake in your life, I’m sure they’d point at me. I’ve had enough, quite frankly. I’m going to get past this door, and take out my fillament gun. Then I’m going to shoot at the nice misters waiting on the other side, and grin as their bodyparts start hitting the walls. I’ll get out a griden impact gun, and fire it at the chests of the security ops who aren’t actually trained on combat. And when their chests collapse, I’ll draw tally marks on my chest armour. I’ll take out this new prototype lancerifle that the former CD3 had stored secretly, and I will proove that it’s range is more than twohundred feet, with no regard to any object it might encounter in it’s part. And I’ll be happy. And do you know why I’ll be happy?
Because I know it means I’m free